VoldeFest!
by Sunspot
Summary: COMPLETE! When Harry’s victories over Voldemort become more and more humiliating for the Dark Lord, the annual battle evolves into a festival celebrated by the combined WizardMuggle world. Welcome to VoldeFest!
1. Live From Scotland

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and his world. They belong to J. K. Rowling and other copyright holders. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Rating: PG for a few occasional bad words and some not-so-bad violence.

**1. Live from Scotland**

A flare of regal music accompanied a striking aerial view of the Forbidden Forest. Panning the treetops, an occasional owl could be seen gliding toward the forest edge on its way to a massive castle.

"Scotland in August. A lush forest deceptively calm despite the creatures that call it home."

As if on cue, the distant sound of a backfiring Blast-Ended Skrewt interrupted.

"A lake, serene on its surface, yet home to mermaids, a giant squid, and occasionally a toilet-dwelling ghost when the plumbing backs up. An ancient castle, the center of many an historic event in the lives of wizards and witches for over a millennium. And now for the rest of us, too. Yes, this is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The music ended. Under a large tent on school grounds, a man and woman in matching orange Muggle blazers sat at a desk surrounded by television cameras, a mass of electronic equipment, and a crew of ten.

"Good afternoon," the man said, looking into a camera. "I'm Jim Brawny, and this is Summer Legsaplenty. Welcome to American MuggleVision! All weekend we'll be here with live coverage of the twenty-fifth annual VoldeFest! Brought to you by Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans--'you pays your money, you takes your chances,' and The Broom Room--'you'll never fly off the handle with us.' Summer, looks like we're in for another spectacular event."

"That's right, Jim," Summer piped in as she adjusted her blazer to better display the AMV logo. "We're on location at this beautiful castle, host to yet another fine festival. For the next three days, we'll bring you extensive coverage of every event: the Hippogriff races, the Animagus Show competition, the Quidditch Tournament, the Whatever Do Muggles Do Without Magic demonstrations, the Magically Enhanced Muggle Contraption competition, and much more."

"So far no one's been able to beat Arthur Weasley in that last contest. Can we expect yet another win from him this year? And you know, Summer, last year there was some controversy when Rita Skeeter took Best in Show in the Animagus competition."

"That's right, Jim. Some still believe to this day that she bribed a judge with a case of Firewhiskey and a bag of Galleons. Let's hope for a clean competition this year. And of course, VoldeFest would not be complete without the climactic big finale!"

"Yes," Jim said, "The epic battle that started it all. The annual match between Harry Potter, wizard hero, and Voldemort, a scaly red rash on the Wizarding world's butt. As always, it promises to be quite entertaining."

"That's right, Jim. Harry Potter has been battling it out with Voldemort since he first defeated the slimy wizard at the astounding age of only one. Makes you wonder, Jim, just how a one-year-old baby could manage to control a wand, let alone yell a curse! Or was it a hex?"

Jim blinked. "Um, yes. Heh heh. Actually, Summer, a curse bounced right off his head."

"That's right, Jim. Babies do bounce." Summer flashed her perfect white teeth.

Jim flinched. "Well, uh, it seems Potter has been facing the red-eyed wizard on a more regular basis since the age of eleven, except a few times when the evil one had trouble scrounging up a new body."

"That's right, Jim. Back when this wonderful world of wizards and witches was still hidden from us Muggles, the wizard now known as the Self-Styled Dark Lord...and why does he insist on calling himself a Dark Lord? I mean how puffed up can one person get?"

"Well, Summer, he did have quite a stranglehold on things back then. That is, until Harry Potter handed him a particularly humiliating defeat when Potter was only seventeen and about to graduate from this very school."

"That's right, Jim. It seems the Self-Styled Dark Lord has always had a penchant for making long-winded speeches before going in for the kill. He had Potter cornered. It was all but over for the young hero. But then something truly amazing happened."

"Indeed it did, Summer. Voldemort took one step toward Potter, no doubt to emphasize some meaningless point he was making, and slipped on a banana peel that Potter had dropped on the ground when he'd been startled by Voldemort's sudden appearance."

"That's right, Jim. Rumor has it that Potter had developed an undying love for bananas while hiding out in the States the summer before this all happened. Some even said he was secretly growing banana trees in the school greenhouses. Well you can imagine how popular bananas became among wizards and witches after that."

Jim stared, feeling the beginnings of a headache as Summer continued.

"Anyway, just as Voldemort was about to throw an Abra Cadabra..."

"Avada Kedavra." Jim sighed.

"That's right, Jim. As I was saying, Voldemort slipped, fell backwards, and hit his head on a rock. Knocked him out but good. All Potter had to do was finish him off."

"After that, Voldemort began to lose respect. People were less afraid of someone who could be outdone by a banana peel. Over the next few years Potter kept winning more and more easily, and more and more of Voldemort's followers, the infamous Death Eaters, skipped out, denying their involvement or claiming they'd been forced to do Voldemort's bidding. Now only a small handful are left, if that many."

"That's right, Jim. In fact, the very first VoldeFest took place the following year. A much more modest affair than it is today, but the celebration had begun. And with all that fear gone, a new era of Wizard-Muggle relations gradually emerged until this magical world was no longer hidden. You know, Jim, it certainly explained a lot of strange occurrences over the years. It's no surprise this great revelation coincided with a sharp drop in alien abduction claims."

Jim stared at her and nodded. "Okay, well. As day one kicks off, we'll get a look at what's going on throughout the day. Right after these messages."

Summer flashed that perfect smile. "That's right, Jim!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Next...Hermione's on a mission.

Reviews welcome!


	2. Yellow Fever

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and his world. They belong to J. K. Rowling and other copyright holders. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made. I also borrowed a character name (not the actual character) from L. Frank Baum's The Wizard of Oz. Again, no copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Rating: PG

* * *

**2. Yellow Fever**

Hermione strode across the grounds and through the crowds, her billowing blue robes not quite pulling off the menace of Severus Snape's. But she meant for nothing and no one to get in her way. Winding through the crowd, she passed one of the more popular vendors, The Banana Cabana, selling all things banana: T-shirts, buttons, balloons, smoothies, desserts, and a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes taffy that turned one's head into a giant banana for thirty minutes. From the looks of things, several people had eaten some.

A boy wearing a white T-shirt with two bright red eyes on it bumped into Hermione. She paused briefly to read the caption ("I Know Who!") before rolling her eyes and continuing on her way. She hadn't gotten far when a small commotion caught her attention. Before she could find the source, someone yelled, "Peeves!" She didn't want to know any more.

Gradually, she slipped away and, taking a little known path through the edge of the forest, ran the rest of the way to Hagrid's hut. She knocked quietly on the door trying with all her might not to rush in and throw herself at the man on the other side. The door creaked open, and Hermione grinned as a tall, blonde man with silver eyes ushered her in. She squealed and threw herself at him. After a prolonged hug, they separated.

"Hullo, Hermione!" he said.

"Take it off," she demanded, out of breath. "Take it all off now!"

"Ooh, yes, ma'am!" he said, laughing. With a wave of his wand, the glamour disappeared, and green-eyed, mop-haired Harry Potter stood beaming at his best friend.

"Malfoy, Harry? Honestly!" She lightly punched his shoulder.

"I thought it was rather creative, myself."

"He couldn't wait to see your reaction," a soft voice added from behind Hermione.

Hermione turned toward it. "Glinda!" She reached for Harry's wife and gave her a solid hug. "You look wonderful. How have you been?"

"Just fine, just fine. Preparing our youngest for Hogwarts next month." Glinda pushed long brown curls out of her face. "Now you'll have three to deal with."

"Well, Lily is a handful. I'm beginning to think she can out-prank the Weasley twins. But Jimmy is a joy to teach. So what should we expect from Emily?"

Harry levitated Hagrid's oversized tea cups to the table and began filling them. "Oh, don't worry, she's just like her mother. A good witch."

Hermione smiled. "Where is Hagrid, by the way?"

"Emergency Hippogriff roundup," Harry said. "Told us to use the hut to hide out if the press managed to get too close to our rooms in the castle."

"Always the good friend," Hermione said.

"How is it out there?"

"Crowded." Hermione giggled. "And lots of bananas."

Harry groaned. "Damn, not again! When will they get it through their thick skulls that I hate bananas? Always have. I don't know where that damned peel came from. Didn't even know it was there. Or if it really was there at all. I mean honestly. When did you ever see anyone walk about the grounds eating bananas of all things?"

"It sure looks like a shriveled up banana peel in the Harry Potter Museum."

Harry picked up a lemon drop and threw it at her head.

"Hey!" Hermione protested. "It's not my fault your arse was saved by fruit." She picked up the candy. "Albus?"

"Yep. Gave me a whole bag. Thought I might need it to get through this damned weekend."

"Well they are quite yellow. Just like...oh I don't know...bananas."

Harry picked up another lemon drop and aimed, but Glinda stopped him.

"Darling, we're all glad that peel, or whatever, was there, aren't we. This happens every year, Harry. You know this. You can't keep letting it get to you."

"Hate bananas," Harry muttered into his teacup. "Don't even like yellow any more..."

A knock on the door stopped the conversation. Harry threw a new glamour on--the face of Ron Weasley.

Hermione grinned. "Now there's an improvement."

Harry winked at her and opened the door.

"Oi! I always wanted a twin of my own!" Ron, decked out in formal Auror robes, dashed inside and hugged his best friend.

"Think we can give Fred and George a run for their money, mate?"

"Worth a try," Ron said. He greeted his wife with a quick kiss and hugged Glinda.

His face back to normal, Harry handed Ron an enormous teacup. "Sounds like it's right wild out there."

Ron nodded. "You won't believe some of the things going on. We just finished rounding up our old friends Crabbe and Goyle. They were dressed like Grim Reapers, pointing at Muggles, scaring the hell out of them. Nutters."

"But why?" Glinda asked. "Everyone knows no proper Reaper would do anything in a crowd. They like to come calling with a bit of privacy. Grim Reapers in a crowd. Why that's just indecent!"

"Muggles don't know that," Hermione said. "They had a hard time sorting out the truth about werewolves and vampires, you remember."

"Well, they did manage to figure out what that whole Boogey Man thing was all about soon enough," Glinda said.

"Oh, here's a good one," Ron jumped in. "This morning some Muggle woman went to use the portable loo, and guess who made an untimely appearance?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Not Myrtle."

"The one and only. Never heard such a scream in all my days."

Hearty laughter broke out. The four finished their tea while catching up on each others' families and the latest on their friends. No one bothered to ask Harry what he had planned for Sunday's Epic Battle. In twenty-five years, that was the one question he never answered.

Harry's curiosity finally won over, and he set out with Glinda and Hermione to see what abominations the Wizard-Muggle collaboration was forcing the world to endure. Ron had returned to duty. Harry's new glamour gave him an angular face with brown eyes and longish hair. Glinda's new flaming red hair had her looking like she'd been plucked from the Weasley family tree.

"Where to first?" Harry asked, not at all enthused.

"Oh, let's just roam," Hermione said. "I think your children are still in the Legend of Harry Potter Pavilion. No doubt they've pulled my two into whatever mischief Lily has planned for them."

"We really should steer clear of that booth," Harry said. "For so many reasons. Merlin help them."

A Muggle woman approached the group. "Excuse me, mind if I ask a few questions?"

"And you are?" Hermione asked, suspicion lacing her voice.

"Ava Lane. American MuggleVision." She pointed to the AMV logo on her orange blazer and whipped out a microphone as if it were a wand. She waved the cameraman closer. "We're asking people if they've seen Harry Potter. It's rare to see him before the Epic Battle, you know, and we're offering prizes for anyone who can spot our elusive hero. We're calling it Potter-Spotting!"

"You what?" Hermoine was appalled.

"Oh, yes," Ava said. "People have been reporting random Harry Potter sightings all day. One woman claimed she saw him up in the Astronomy Tower an hour ago. Said he was testing the wind for some stunt he has planned for the battle. So have you seen him?" Ava eyed Harry and Glinda, ready to pounce on them next. They took a few steps back.

Hermione's eyes took on a dangerous glint. She glanced at her friends with an evil smile. "Well, Ava, let me tell you a story. In Hogwarts: A History..." she began as she pulled poor Ava and her helpless cameraman aside.

Harry and Glinda escaped to the shelter of the Gringotts Pavilion where a Goblin, wearing a tag that said, "Hello, my name is Pipsqueak. May I help you?" exchanged Wizard and Muggle currencies. Despite the tag, Pipsqueak looked positively put out.

"We should have stayed and talked to that reporter," Glinda said, giving Harry a playful look.

"Have you given in to the madness too, love?"

"We could have made up all kinds of things. After all, I have 'spotted' you in ways no one else ever has." She wiggled her eyebrows.

Harry blushed right through his glamour. "You wouldn't dare."

"Be nice to me, and you'll never have to find out."

He kissed her, and after a few minutes, the two decided it was safe to leave. As soon as they stepped outside, two banana-headed children walked by, dragged by their mother.

"But it's supposed to last, Mum!" one child said.

"It's been over an hour." The mother said. "We're going to the Infirmary Pavilion, and that's that. No more arguing. I told you not to eat that..."

Harry dropped his head onto Glinda's shoulder and let out the most pathetic sigh he could muster. "I. Hate. Bananas."

* * *

Next...A "trip" to remember.

Reviews welcome!


	3. A Word from Our Sponsors

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and his world. They belong to J. K. Rowling and other copyright holders. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Rating: PG for a few occasional bad words and some not-so-bad violence.

Thanks so much for the reviews! I actually do like bananas, and I'm so sorry to make them torture poor Harry. Now on to day 2!

**

* * *

3. A Word from Our Sponsors **

The regal music blared once again, this time accompanied by an impressive aerial view of the castle.

"Welcome back to day two of American MuggleVision's coverage of the twenty-fifth annual VoldeFest! Brought to you by Some Enchanted Awnings--'weather from above or strangers across a crowded room, we've got you covered,' and Sprout's Happy Charmed Banana Farm--'the fruit of heroes.' I'm Jim Brawny, and I'm here with Summer Legsaplenty. It was an exciting first day, eh, Summer?"

"That's right, Jim. As expected, Arthur Weasley sailed through the first round of the Magically Enhanced Muggle Contraption competition. The Animagus Show competition has reported no controversies, but one contestant in the feline category did have an embarrassing incident involving a hairball."

"Oh no. Bet that was messy."

"That's right, Jim. Later in our Potter-Spotting segment, Ava Lane will share some of the thousands of reported spottings. It seems Potter really gets around, and may have been in as many as four places at once several times yesterday. Now that's a powerful wizard!"

"The Magic Carpet race is this afternoon," Jim said. "And later we'll take a look at the many children's activities, such as the Squid Rodeo and the Guess That Potion taste test, designed by the Hogwarts Potion Master himself, Severus Snape."

"That's right, Jim. But right now, we're going to get an exciting tour inside the Hogwarts castle with Trip Argyle. Trip?"

"Thanks, Summer," Trip said into a camera. "I'm here inside the hallowed halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not sure which hallowed hall this is, though, because two of the staircases took us for quite a ride. So we're just going to wander this hall for a while and see what's here. Oh, wait, here comes someone. Let's see if they can help us find our way."

Fred and George Weasley approached. George carried a small tin.

"Excuse me. I'm Trip Argyle. American MuggleVision. We're taking our viewers on a tour of the castle, and we've managed to get ourselves lost. I'm wondering..."

"American MuggleVision, you say?" George asked.

"That's right. I..."

"Nice to meet you, Trip! I'm Fred Weasley, and this is my brother, George."

"We're the proprietors of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," George said.

Fred smiled into the camera. "That's Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. We take both owl and mail orders."

Trip tried to cut in. "Yes, and welcome to the show. We..."

George opened the tin. "Here, Trip, try a brownie. Fresh from the ovens of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Fred nodded. "We take both owl and mail orders."

Trip reached for a brownie. "I think I will. Thank you." He took a bite and looked into the camera. "Mmmm! Another tasty festival treat. These taste just like waah waaaaah..." Trip grabbed his throat.

George patted his shoulder. "No worries, mate. Nothing's wrong."

"Waaaaaah waaah, waaah waaah," Trip tried to say.

"Brilliant, Trip!" Fred clapped his hands. "You're the first to try our new Charlie Brownies. If you're a kid, you keep speaking normally."

George finished. "But adults will start talking like, well, you."

"Muggle cartoons are a great source of ideas for our products." George looked directly into the camera. "That's Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

"We take both owl and mail orders."

"Don't worry, Trip," George said. "This is just a test batch. It'll wear off in another thirty seconds or so."

"We must get back to our booth. Nice talking to you."

"Waah! Waaah waaah waaah!"

But the twins were gone.

Trip pointed frantically at someone or something off camera. "Waah waah! Waaah waah those damned...ahem. Oh. Well." He straightened his orange AMV blazer and smoothed his hair. "Let's, uh, see what...ah, here comes someone else. Now he definitely looks like a man who can point us in the right direction."

Lucius Malfoy thundered down the hall, his white-blond hair furiously flapping behind him.

"Excuse me, sir," Trip said, flashing a grin worthy of Gilderoy Lockhart. "I'm Trip Argyle, American MuggleVision. What's your name, sir, and how are you enjoying the festival?"

Startled, Malfoy stopped in his tracks and stared at the camera. His face morphed into a scowl. "Muggle vision?"

"Your name, sir?"

"Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy." He stared the reporter down until the grin faltered.

"Malfoy...Malfoy! Why you were a Death Eater, right?"

"I was no such thing. Those are old rumors. Horrible, misleading accusations. Lies. Falsehoods. Unfortunate misunderstandings. Malicious attempts to taint my impeccable reputation. Nothing more."

But Trip smelled a scoop. "In fact, you were the top dog Death Eater, weren't you? I'm sure everyone back in the States would love to hear what you have to say. So tell us, Mr. Malfoy, you knew the Self-Styled Dark Lord personally. Do you think he will finally get a much needed first win in his column this year?"

Everything about Malfoy turned icy cold. "Listen carefully, Muggle. I am not now, nor have I ever been a Death Eater. Get that through your feeble little Muggle head, Mr..."

"Argyle."

"Yes. Mr. Argyle." Malfoy continued, looking Trip up and down with his glacial glare, "You tell your BEEEEEEP! that they are most welcome to BEEEEEEP!. I have ways to BEEEEEEEEEEEP! and intestines BEEEEEEEEEP!hard pressed to find your BEEEEEEEEEEP! so painful, your ancestors BEEEEEEEEEEP! and your little dog, too BEEEEEEEEEEEP! fava beans BEEEEEEEEP! last brain cell. And if you ever again contaminate my personal space with your BEEEEEP! I will not hesitate to BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! curtailing any hope of procreation whatsoever. Good day, Mr. Argyle." Malfoy stormed away.

Trip blanched and gulped. "Well," he rasped. "That was...informative. Er, back...back to you, Jim."

Outside, Jim and Summer sat drained of all color. Jim was the first to come back to his senses.

"Oh. Hey, uh, thank goodness for five-second delays, eh, Summer?"

Summer didn't budge and yelped with Jim poked her arm.

"That's...that's right, Jim. We'll be right back. After...after these...messages."

* * *

Next...The Potters throw a party! 

I've borrowed a concept from the beloved Charles Schulz' Charlie Brown cartoons. There are also a couple of little gems in here from The Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum --"and your little dog, too"-- and The Silence of the Lambs, by Thomas Harris (novel) and Ted Tally (screenplay) --fava beans! Some Enchanted Evenings is a Rodgers and Hammerstein classic. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Reviews welcome! And thanks so much for the earlier reviews!


	4. A Knut for Your Thoughts

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and his world. They belong to J. K. Rowling and other copyright holders. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Rating: PG for a few occasional bad words and some not-so-bad violence.

Thank you for the wonderful reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I hope no bananas have been or will be offended. :)

**

* * *

4. A Knut for Your Thoughts**

The night before this year's greatest battle of all time, the grounds and castle halls saw no relief from the bustle of the festival. It was a reasonably warm, breezy night, perfect for celebrating, overeating, and engaging in creative mischief. No one had any intentions of leaving.

In the Music Pavilion, the Weird Sisters, now replaced by younger musicians just as weird, had finished their set. A new group, Avada Banana, was about to debut their new song, "The Fruit of All Evil." The crowd grew larger and louder in anticipation.

Safely tucked away in heavily warded rooms, Harry and Glinda held a small party for their friends. With their children still outside causing Merlin only knew how much mayhem, it was a comfortably relaxed affair. Glinda sipped a banana daiquiri, innocently ignoring the dark look her husband threw her way, and chatted with Hermione and Ginny. Ron, Harry, Tonks, and Bill debated the latest Quidditch statistics over butterbeers. Minerva McGonagall's and Molly Weasley's eyes glazed over as Arthur explained in great detail how his enchanted Muggle contraption was sure to win first prize in the morning.

Neville, Luna, Dean, Charlie, and Seamus all laughed about Neville's sudden appointment to Herbology Professor six years ago after the overwhelming success of Professor Sprout's banana farm lured her away. And Remus Lupin, properly dosed with Firewhiskey, stood by a newly conjured, old fashioned record player and gently swayed to the soothing tune of "Blue Moon."

With a knock and an uttered password, Albus Dumbledore swept into the room. At least everyone was pretty sure it was him. His head may have been a giant banana, but the long, white beard and twinkle in his yellow-lidded eyes gave him away. He spread his arms wide and bobbed his oblong head. "Welcome to Hogwarts!"

The laughter in the room could have drowned out the band outside. Harry, however, had dropped his head into his hands. "I. Hate. Bananas." Glinda, who had moved over to him, patted his back.

With a pop, Dumbledore's head reverted to its normal appearance. "That was refreshing! Ah, Harry, my boy. How are you?"

Harry peeked from between his fingers. When he saw that the headmaster had returned to normal, he dropped his hands. "Fine, Albus. I see you've been enjoying yourself."

"Indeed. I just came from the Weasley's booth. Obviously, I suppose. The adults are having quite a time fussing at their children after eating those Charlie Brownies."

Molly reached over and pulled off the Sprout's Happy Charmed Banana Farm label that remained on the headmaster's forehead. Embarrassed, she tried to apologize on behalf of her wayward sons.

"Nonsense, Molly. It's all in good fun. Would you believe I almost got Severus to eat a piece of taffy? Now wouldn't that be a sight?" The twinkle was almost blinding.

Ron's face twisted. "A banana with greasy black hair and a nasty attitude? No, I don't think so." He shuddered. "No. Just no."

Glinda snorted.

"Oh, sorry Glinda," Ron said with a smirk. "So very, very sorry to insult your Head of House."

"You know it's nothing to me, Ron," Glinda said. "The great bat."

Molly sighed with disapproval. "Turning his back on his former star Potions student for marrying a Gryffindor."

"Not just any Gryffindor," Glinda said.

Glinda, Ginny, and Hermione said together, "_The_ Gryffindor!"

Glinda scowled. "The great bat."

"Hmm, lose a potion master mentor, gain a loving husband," Hermione said. "I think you got the better end of the deal."

Remus sloshed his way over to Hermione, managing to bump into only one person. "That's right, Hormone."

Hermione snickered. Harry choked on his butterbeer. Everyone else made every effort to reign in their laughter, except Ron.

Remus frowned and looked more closely at her face. "Harmony. Hermione. Yes. Hermione." He turned to the others and raised his drink. "To Glinda. Loving potion master and talented wife, er..."

Harry gently took Remus by the arm. "Remus, perhaps you should sit down," he said, with a hint of laughter in his voice.

"Nonsense!" He looked Harry in the eye. "I'm so proud of you, Harry."

"I know, Remus."

He grabbed Harry's shoulder and shook it. "So very proud. Your parents would be so proud. Sirius would be so proud..."

"I know."

With Arthur's help, Harry maneuvered Remus to the sofa.

"Godric Gryffindor would be so proud. Merlin himself would be so proud..."

With a pat on the back, Harry left Remus to recite his list to Arthur and returned to Glinda.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked.

"Just a Snape story." Glinda rolled her eyes.

"Hm. Lucky me."

"And everyone's started guessing where Emily will be sorted. With one in Gryffindor and one in Ravenclaw already, most say Slytherin for her. The great bat would just love that."

Harry's grin was cut short when Remus, who had escaped from Arthur, bumped into him. Seamus, not quite as far gone as Remus, joined him.

"I'll put a Galleon on Gryffindor," Seamus said.

Remus shook his head. "I see your Galleon and raise you a Sickle for Slytherin."

"Remus! I'm shocked!" Seamus said.

"Think about it, Seamus. Two Gryffindors? No balance there. Now I have a theory..."

And he flew into a long-winded explanation of the merits of opening a new house for the offspring of increasingly frequent Gryffindor-Slytherin pairings. He and Seamus tested "Gryffinslyth," "Slythindor," and a few other unacceptable house names. They finally settled on "Glytherin," with a bottle of soap (or "thoap," because Seamus insisted on a matching lisp) as a mascot. This, of course, sent the two into uncontrollable hysterics, which threw them both off balance and landed them in a heap on the floor.

"All right, now," Glinda said.

To the amusement of everyone else, a dazed Remus and Seamus now found themselves staring down the business end of her wand.

"Up, up, both of you. Right now. Over to the sofa. We're going to sober you up."

"Oi! I feel just fine," Seamus tried to protest. But Glinda's frown and her hand on her hip deterred him from commenting further, except for a feeble, "Yes, ma'am."

Under Glinda's threatening eye, both eventually managed to stand and teeter over to the sofa.

Glinda marched from the room in search of a sobering potion muttering something about "betting on my children" and "I'll not have it!" Ron nudged Harry, who grinned and nodded in return.

As the evening wore on, former classmates and Order members drifted in and out enjoying the reunion. And newly-sober Seamus and Remus seemed to be back in their right minds, though Remus was a bit embarrassed.

"So, Harry," Seamus said as he flopped an arm around Harry's shoulder. "What kind of horrible, unthinkable death do you have planned for the self-styled pain in everyone's bum?"

Harry smiled and stared at his friend. "You know better than that, Seamus."

"Why don't you set him on fire this year? Give the flames some nice color. Like purple. That'd be lovely."

Harry just raised an eyebrow.

"No, no, no," Ginny said. "It has to be some kind of hex he invented."

"I say it's a potion this time," Neville added. "Something horrid. Snape-like."

"He should kick old Self-Styled right into next year," Remus said. "Save the poor bastard the trouble of coming up with yet another body. Merlin knows he needs all the help he can get. Harry, just hex him right into next year's battle and be done with it."

This suggestion drew the biggest laugh.

Remus held up his glass, which Glinda made sure was filled with pumpkin juice. "To Harry. The ultimate Marauder who gets to pull the ultimate prank every year."

Everyone raised their drinks and cheered.

"I'm with Remus," Bill said. "Nothing like a little time travel to make things interesting.

Charlie shook his head. "Oh, I don't know. All he has to do is throw a bunch of bananas..._ooof!_" He rubbed his ribs where Ron had just landed an elbow. "Sorry."

Arthur stood. "Sounds like we have a favorite. All in favor of Remus's suggestion, raise your drinks."

Everyone did just that.

"There you have it, Harry," Hermione said. "Our wish for tomorrow's show."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said with a smile. But his plan was already in place.

* * *

A/N: "Charlie Brown" still belongs to the beloved Charles Schulz and other copyright holders. And the name "Glinda" still comes from The Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Next...What does Harry really have planned for Voldemort? American MuggleVision is hot on the case.

Reviews welcome!


	5. Just the Facts

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and his world. They belong to J. K. Rowling and other copyright holders. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Rating: PG for a few occasional bad words and some not-so-bad violence.

Thanks so much for your kind reviews!

**

* * *

5. Just the Facts**

The fanfare returned, accompanying an aerial view of the Quidditch pitch.

"The big day is finally here!" Jim said. "Welcome back to day three of American MuggleVision's coverage of the twenty-fifth annual VoldeFest! Brought to you by The Weaving Wand Yarn Shop--'Knit one, pearl two, then transfigure the rest' and Filch's Discipline Hut--'Never miss the screaming again.' I'm Jim Brawny, here one last time with Summer Legsaplenty. Yes, this is it. The grand finale of the festival is almost upon us."

"That's right, Jim. All other events are wrapping up. Arthur Weasley, as predicted, has won the Magically Enhanced Muggle Contraption competition for the tenth year in a row. This year's winning entry was a ceiling fan that doubles as a set of helicopter blades strong enough to lift the entire house. That sure might come in handy if your house is about to flood. Or for when you want to save on airfare."

"It sure would. Hogwarts' own Minerva McGonagall, riding a red and gold berber wall-to-wall, was declared winner of the Magic Carpet Race. And Best in Show in the Animagus competition went to Diagon Alley merchant Elvira Mayflower for her Puffin form. A rare one, indeed."

"That's right, Jim. A toucan almost took the crown. This was certainly the year of the strange bird."

"Indeed it was, Summer. Indeed it was. And now for the results of this year's Potter-Spotting, let's turn to Ava Lane. Welcome to the table, Ava."

"Thank you, Jim. Good to be here. Well, I'm not surprised to find that Harry Potter was spotted no less than six thousand, five hundred and eighty-three and a half times."

"A half?" Jim asked.

"Yes, it seems one man claimed to have seen Potter in ghost form. So we gave him a half."

"Fair enough, I suppose," Jim said.

"Exactly. Between Friday and early this morning, Harry Potter was most frequently spotted on the roof of one of the greenhouses, atop the Astronomy Tower, riding the Giant Squid, flying around the Quidditch pitch, sleeping in the bed of each of the women (and twelve men) who reported this particular location, in the men's room, in the ladies' room, and disguised as a Grim Reaper pointing at Muggles."

"Amazing," Jim said.

"That's right, Jim," Summer said.

Ava continued. "Yes, and according to our calculations, Harry Potter was in two places at once nine hundred and eighty-five times, three places at once seven hundred and twenty-one times, four places at once three hundred and ninety-seven times, and in the case of those women (and twelve men) and their beds, four hundred and thirty-nine places at once one time."

"What kind of potion is he on? Heh heh!"

"That's right, Jim," Summer said. "I hope he has enough energy left for the battle!"

"Oh, don't worry," Ava said. "He was also spotted in the Infirmary Pavilion one hundred and six times. He has to be in tip-top shape after all that."

"Let's hope so," Jim said. "Because it's almost time. Let's go to Trip Argyle on the pitch for some pre-battle comments. Trip?"

"Thanks, Jim," Trip said from the edge of the pitch. "Yes, the big day is finally upon us. Witches, wizards, and Muggles alike are starting to enter the stands, getting their last minute snacks and what not before getting to their seats. Standing here with me is Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. Thanks for joining us, Professor Dumbledore."

"Beautiful day for a battle, isn't it, Mr. Argyle? Lemon drop?" He held up a small glass candy dish.

"No thank you, sir. I never eat during interviews anymore. Sir, you know Harry Potter better than most. What do you think he will do today?"

"Oh, Harry will no doubt come up with something fascinating for all to enjoy. Tootsie Roll?" The contents of the dish were transfigured.

"No, no thank you. But can you give us a hint of what he might do? It must be hard for him to top last year, when he apparated himself and Voldemort to a busy London highway, where Voldemort was run over by a hexed beer truck. And that screen that appeared in the pitch so we could all see it? Fantastic! Any ideas?"

"Oh, Harry never shares his plans. Gummi Bear?"

Trip shook his head. "Surely he dropped a hint or two for you. Maybe another vat of Face-Melting Brain Leeches? Transfigure Voldemort into a dragon treat with a hungry dragon conveniently nearby again? Though the digestive problems it caused that poor dragon were unpleasant to witness, to say the least." Trip's eyes narrowed. He was in full reporter mode now. "Surely Potter trusts you, doesn't he, Professor?"

"Goober?"

"No. Tell me, Professor, have you and Potter had some kind of falling out? Is that why he steadfastly refuses to tell you a thing?"

"Cream puff? You are hungry, Mr. Argyle," Dumbledore said, directing the twinkle into Trip's eyes.

"Oh, fine." He took one and bit into it. He chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Each time he swallowed, more pastry filled his mouth. "Mmmf!"

"You're welcome, Mr. Argyle. Enjoy your Never-Enough Cream Puff. And remember, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. They take both owl and mail orders. Enjoy the battle, Mr. Argyle." With one final twinkle, Dumbledore disapparated.

"Mmmf ymm, jmmm!" Trip said.

Jim shifted uncomfortably. "It looks like we won't be getting a preview today."

"That's right, Jim. But not to worry, live coverage of the Epic Battle between Harry Potter and the Self-Styled Dark Lord is only minutes away. Right here on American MuggleVision."

Jim nodded. "And it all begins right after these messages."

* * *

Next...The epic battle begins!

Reviews welcome!


	6. Pest Control

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and his world. They belong to J. K. Rowling and other copyright holders. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Rating: PG for a few occasional bad words and some not-so-bad violence.

Thanks so much for your kind reviews. It seems Jim and Summer have a fan, now. That's right, Jim!:)

**

* * *

6. Pest Control**

On the crisp, sunny morning of the much anticipated confrontation, not one seat was left empty in the stands of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, which had been temporarily enlarged to accommodate the crowd. Fans rushed back from their last-minute trips to the loo, not wanting to miss a second.

The booming voice of the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, filled the pitch. "Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome once again to the twenty-fifth annual VoldeFest! This afternoon, the Ministry of Magic proudly presents face-off number thirty-two between The Boy Who Lived, The Man Who Can't Be Beaten, our hero, Harry James Potter, Order of Merlin First Class..."

The crowd burst into cheers. Shacklebolt waited patiently until it was quiet enough to continue. "...and Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, formerly known as You Know Who, most recently known as the Self-Styled Dark Lord."

Boos and hisses (of the non-Parseltongue variety) flew around the pitch. Someone in the top of the stands yelled, "Anybody got a banana handy?" Hearty laugher replaced the boos.

Seconds later a soft pop drew the crowd's attention. Harry Potter, 42-year-old bespectacled broom repair business owner, cardigan-wearing husband and father of three, author of four best-selling children's books (_Owl Eye Detective Stories,_ Volumes I through IV), avid collector of all chocolate frog cards other than his own, apparated onto the pitch. Loud cheers, frenzied banner waving, and bobbing banana-shaped balloons erupted.

Harry nodded, acknowledging the crowd. His stunning black battle robes made a tiny effort at a billow as he strolled to the center of the pitch. Ignoring the ongoing noise, he waved his wand toward...nothing...as he waited for his enemy. Whatever was there, or not there, kept him comfortably busy for the next several minutes.

But the calm was broken as a high-pitched screech and an unbelievably annoying cackle assaulted the ears of everyone present. With a loud crack, Voldemort appeared on the pitch surrounded by a spectacle of red smoke and orange sparks. The sparks became a fanfare of blaring trumpets and French horns. Loud boos returned.

Harry looked up briefly, shook his head, then went about his business, whatever that was, as though he were puttering in his garden on an ordinary day.

Behind Voldemort stood the only two remaining Death Eaters. Actually, one stood--Wormtail, who remained because he was simply too afraid to leave. The other sort of teetered. This was Brutus, a wizard who had never made it out of the lowest rank of Death Eaters. At over 200 years of age, he had no idea he was still a Death Eater. Neither wore masks, because with only two of them, what would be the point?

Harry rolled his eyes as the last of the smoke disappeared. He couldn't help but pause and raise an eyebrow at the sight before him. With a snort, he returned to his work.

"Wormtail!" Voldemort bellowed.

"Y-y-yes, My Lord?"

"Stand at the entrance to the pitch. Make sure that brat doesn't try to escape. As you can ssssee, the poor boy is frightened out of his witssss."

"H-h-he does l-l-look t-t-terr-terrified, My Lord," Wormtail agreed.

"See to it, Wormtail!"

"Y-y-yes, My Lord." Wormtail scrambled away.

"Brutus!"

Brutus, grinning and waving at a group of small children in the lowest level of the stands, didn't hear a thing.

"BRUTUSSSS!"

Ever so slowly, with the help of a rickety cane, Brutus turned to face his master. "Your Highness?"

Voldemort sighed, or hissed, actually.

"Go into the crowd and capture my former followers. After I've dispenssssed of Potter, I shall show the world what happens to those who betray me!"

Brutus frowned and leaned closer to Voldemort. "What?"

"Find the traitors!"

"Waiters? Will we be dining out?"

"Traitors! Find the traitorsssssssss!"

Brutus cupped his withered ear and stepped closer until his nose almost touched what was left of Voldemort's. "What?"

Voldemort's crossed, red eyes narrowed. "Oh, go ssssit with Wormtail," he spat.

Brutus nodded and muttered something incoherent. Slowly, he tottered over to Wormtail, where he sat and promptly fell asleep.

Grinning at the exchange, Harry finally finished whatever he was doing and turned toward Voldemort.

"Potter! I ssssssee you've decided to be a brave little boy and face me once again. How very nice."

"Another year, another battle, Tom. So I see you had to scramble to fashion a last minute body. Pity, that." Harry couldn't hide a smirk.

"There is nothing wrong with this body!" Voldemort whipped out his wand. "Crucio!"

But Harry simply sidestepped the curse. "Typical. Those ruby red eyes of yours don't focus like they used to, do they?"

"Mind your mouth, boy! That was just a...a warning shot."

"Yes, I'm sure." Harry looked him up and down. "Did you not glance in the mirror before stepping outside? Honestly, Tom, you really are looking rather..." Harry waved his hand back and forth, trying to find just the right words. "...pieced together these days. A bit thin and leathery, wouldn't you say? What happened to your left ear, by the way? It's just dangling upside down by a thread."

Startled, Voldemort grabbed the ear and pushed it back into place.

"And I'm surprised you can form words with that crevice you call a mouth," Harry continued.

"Sssssssilence! We are here to do battle, you stupid brat. And stop calling me Tom. I am the great, the all-powerful, Lord Voldemort!"

"Right. Has no one told you, Tom, that a combover simply will not work when you only have a grand total of six hairs on your head? Personally, I'd blame Wormtail for not speaking up. You ought to go Crucio him on the spot. Go ahead. I'll wait."

"Ssssstalling, Potter? Yes. I know you're frightened. You've always been frightened of me. And rightfully so. The only intelligent thing you ever did was fear me!"

"And what is that thing on your upper lip? Wait...is that a mustache? A mustache! Tom! Why you rakish devil, you!"

"Why, yes, I...No! I will tolerate your stalling no longer! Forget about my appearance..."

"Gladly."

"...and let's get on with thissss. I have a world to conquer once I'm through with you, you Muggle-loving traitor to the Wizarding world."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes again. "Whatever you say, Tom, whatever you say."

"Never call me that! How many times must I remind you!"

"Still can't embrace your inner Muggle, eh, Tom?"

"You will regret those words, Potter! What I have planned for you today will not ssssoon be forgotten..."

As Voldemort babbled on, Harry turned away and pulled an Invisibility Cloak from a large crate with "ACME" stenciled in large black letters on each side. Working at a leisurely pace, he pointed his wand at each corner, loosening the nails with a _ping,_ one by one.

"...and your mercilessly painful death will go down in history as my greatest victory..."

Harry all but ignored Voldemort's incessant droning, throwing in an occasional and random "uh huh" or "mm hmm" so as not to appear completely rude. In between, he quietly hummed something that sounded vaguely like the old Beatles tune, "From Me to You." Appropriate. It was a gift he was preparing, after all.

"...your sniveling little fans will wallow in the deepest grief..."

The last nail gone, the sides of the crate fell away, revealing an old, beat up, oversized trunk with "ACME Insta-Boggart" stenciled on the side. The crowd stirred with anticipation.

"...join your parents' rotted corpses..."

Harry levitated the trunk so that it landed in a spot between himself and Voldemort. Only then did the Self-Styled Dark Lord shut his cavernous mouth and raise what once may have been an eyebrow.

"A boggart, Potter? A boggart?" His cackle snaked its way through the pitch to the top of the stands, drawing a collective groan out of the crowd. "Decades of clever warfare between us, and the best you can do is a boggart?"

Blank-faced, Harry merely shrugged.

"Growing weary, child? Well, we can end this, you know. Stop fighting, boy! Clearly I have worn you down. Just as I planned all those many years ago! Yes, it's all as I planned!" Another hideous cackle ripped through the air.

The crowd murmured, trying to guess what form Voldemort's boggart could possibly take. Murmurs of "Dumbledore?" and "soap and water?" wound around the stands.

"Yes, Potter, your efforts are useless against me. They always have been. I've humored you for too long..."

"Oh, shut it, will you?" Harry finally spoke up. Without another word, he gave his wand a swish, and the trunk popped open. A man in drab Muggle clothing climbed out. An average, paunchy man with a pleasant smile, in fact. The man looked at Voldemort and began to chuckle.

"A Muggle?" That damned cackle again, this time louder and much more grating. "It seems your boggart is defective, Potter. As you can see, it's turned itself into a lowly...pudgy...thing...obviously addicted to carbohydrates. Serves you right for scrounging about in bargain basement boggart shops. Low on Galleons, are we?"

Harry frowned and scratched his head. "Oh, please forgive me. I can't for the life of me figure out what went wrong. Hmm. Let's see...oh...well let's just wait, shall we?"

As he spoke, the boggart Muggle split in two, leaving the first Muggle intact and forming a second, a frail little woman with big hair, matching shiny pink bustier and capri pants, and a leopard skin purse. She too looked at Voldemort and giggled.

"Another Muggle? Oh, Potter, I'm afraid this is the end for you. I will miss out little games, I must admit..."

The two boggart Muggles each split in two again, and now four Muggles stood openly laughing at the Self-Styled Dark Lord. Harry grinned and sat down, lounging in the grass as Voldemort's confidence began to slip.

"What is the meaning of this, Potter? Are...are you trying to tell me that you're...er...ready to die? What..."

The four Muggles became eight, then sixteen, then thirty-two. Before long, the Self-Styled Dark Lord was surrounded by a mass of average, everyday, unambitious Muggles all pointing and laughing at him until tears streamed down their little boggart cheeks.

Harry conjured an overstuffed recliner and made himself comfortable.

Voldemort suddenly screamed. "No! Get back you...you...pathetic...useless Muggles!" Suddenly realizing that he had a wand, he raised it and hurled every hex and curse he knew their way, completely forgetting the only one that would easily dispel a boggart.

Harry conjured the latest issue of Quidditch Quarterly (spokeswitch edition) and began to scan the pictures, turning the magazine a full ninety degrees when he reached the centerfold.

As the boggart Muggles closed in on their prey, bursts of "Oooooh!" and "Aaaaah!" erupted from the delighted crowd in the stands between the screams of "You dare to laugh at the Dark Lord! I will not tolerate your laughter, foolish Muggles!"

Harry pulled a small bag of Every Flavor Beans from his robe and popped two in his mouth, wincing a bit at the school paste flavor he suddenly recalled from early childhood. Those new Muggle-based flavors were always a surprise.

"Crucio! Avada Kedavra! I SAID...Avada! Kedavra! No! Stop that laughter at once! Crucio!"

Harry transfigured a television out of a piece of the crate and found a Benny Hill rerun.

"I summon my Death Eaters to my side! Wormtail! Brutus! I summon...Avada...Cru...I...MUGGLLLLLES!"

Silence.

The crowd hushed.

Harry sat up, turned off the television, tilted his head to the side and listened.

Silence.

As he stood, the boggart mob turned in his direction. Transforming into a horde of rabid reporters waving cameras and quills, they rushed at him. But with a quick, "Riddikulus!" he forced them back into the trunk and, with the most effort he'd expended all day, sat on the lid and locked it.

The crowd let out a long, thunderous cheer. No one noticed a dejected Wormtail slinking away, leaving a slumbering Brutus snoring in his chair.

As two festival Aurors approached, Harry strolled to the body sprawled on the ground. Its deep red eyes stared at nothing, and its misshapen mouth hung open. The dangling ear had finally fallen off and lay in the grass. The fake mustache had come partially loose and looked as though it were desperately trying to crawl into the open mouth. Harry pulled a face normally reserved for the most vile potion Snape could concoct.

Two Aurors neared, and Harry beamed as he recognized Tonks accompanied by none other than an ecstatic Dobby. He had been promoted to Auror two years after the stunning success of Hermione's S.P.E.W. campaign had led to the Heartfelt Equal Rights for Magical Creatures Act and Retraining and Education Scholarships (H.E.R.M.C.A.R.E.S.) of 2017. Proud of his new status, Dobby had decided he needed a surname. On the day he became an Auror, he also became Dobby Harris, in honor of his favorite human.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks grinned, her paisley-patterned hair bobbing as she walked.

As for Dobby, well he was beside himself. "Harry Potter! Harry Potter has saved the world again! Dobby Harris is honored..." With a sharp poke from Tonks and kind wink from Harry, Dobby pulled himself together. "Er...yes...er...so sorry...fine job, Harry Potter, fine job."

Harry knelt and slowly waved his wand over the body from head to toe. "Heart attack."

"That spare-parts-for-a-body bastard had a heart?" Tonks asked, earning a quiet chuckle from Harry.

"I suppose you could call it that," Harry said as he pulled a vial of murky liquid from his robe.

"And what might that be, Harry Potter?" Dobby enunciated each word carefully, his bulging eyes flashing with more excitement than decorum allowed.

"Oh, Mr. Self-Styled here is not quite finished yet." He turned back to the body. "It's been ever so much fun, Tommy. Do keep in touch. See you next year." Harry poured the contents of the vial into the gaping mouth. "Might want to stand back a bit," he told the Aurors. They did.

The crowd held its collective breath. They knew this was going to be good, and they weren't disappointed. Swirls of pea-green smoke rushed from the mouth with a disembodied scream. The body disintegrated until there was nothing left but a small pile of dust as the swirls whooshed through the pitch, wailing, "Mugglllllllles!" before eventually dissipating with a weak whine.

The crowd roared. Dobby squealed with delight while Tonks gasped.

"Bloody hell! What was that?"

Harry grinned. "That was the soul of Mr. Self-Styled being chased about by his worst fear. It'll keep chasing him until he figures out how to bring his sorry arse back to life in time for next year's festival."

Both Aurors looked doubtful.

Harry shrugged. "Acme's Boggart-in-a-Bottle Potion. Who knew generics could be so useful?"

"Brilliant!" Tonks clapped Harry on the back a little too hard, making him nearly choke on the banana-flavored bean he had just put in his mouth. "Er, sorry, Harry," she blushed as he spat the horrid thing onto the ground.

Dobby gave Harry's arm a pat as he recovered his dignity.

"Right. Let's get on with it, then." Tonks cleared her throat and turned to address the crowd. "As Aurors of the twenty-fifth annual VoldeFest and as representatives of the Ministry of Magic, having examined the...er...body...in question, we officially declare that Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, formerly known as You Know Who, most recently known as the Self-Styled Dark Lord, is indeed..." She paused for dramatic effect. "...really most sincerely dead!"

For some strange reason, that last part gave Harry the vague feeling that somewhere deep in the Forbidden Forest, a house had just landed on Bellatrix Lestrange.

Tonks continued, "Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and The Man Who Can't Be Beaten, has triumphed once again!"

The crowd rose to its feet and whooped and hollered until the entire pitch vibrated with joy. A modest smile graced Harry's face as he gave a quick nod and swept his hand through his dark mop of hair. Embarrassed at the din of the crowd, he waved, mouthing his thanks.

"Well, just a bit of cleaning up to do, and I'll be on my way," Harry said, looking around the pitch.

"See you at the Weasleys' party, Harry Potter?" Dobby asked as if each word were a work of art.

"Naturally, Mr. Harris. I have a feeling Fred and George have a few surprises in store."

"Merlin help us," Tonks said as she and Dobby headed for the Ministry VIP viewing booth.

As the noise finally began to die down, Harry banished the crate pieces, trunk, recliner, and television. He tucked the magazine into his robe and neatly folded his Invisibility Cloak. He nodded politely to the crowd one last time. Then with a barely audible pop, he was gone. The crowd cheered again, clearly pleased as always with their hero. Their tickets had been well worth the price.

* * *

Next...the aftermath of the Epic Battle.

The phrase "really most sincerely dead" and that house landing on Bellatrix is from The Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum. The "Acme" idea is from Looney Toons' Coyote and Roadrunner cartoons by Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Reviews welcome!


	7. All in a Day's Work

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and his world. They belong to J. K. Rowling and other copyright holders. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Rating: PG for a few occasional bad words and some not-so-bad violence.

Thanks again for the reviews!

**

* * *

7. All in a Day's Work**

Jim Brawny straightened his jacket. "Another spectacular battle, eh, Summer?"

"That's right, Jim," Summer said. "This year it was a simple boggart and, most surprising, a generic potion that did in the Self-Styled Dark Lord."

"For post-battle commentary, we'll go back to Trip Argyle out on the pitch. Hopefully he's fully recovered. Trip?"

"Thanks, Jim, and yes I am. It only took an hour or so to wear off. I'm here with Potions Professor, Severus Snape. Professor Snape, I understand you were one of Harry Potter's teachers here at Hogwarts and know him quite well, yes?

"I had the dubious honor, yes," Snape deadpanned.

"So what are your thoughts on today's events? Clearly Potter didn't brew his own potion. He used a generic. Did he have any problems in Potions class when he was your student? Did he suffer some kind of trauma associated with potions and so can't brew his own without severe flashbacks? And with a potion master for a wife, isn't this a clear sign of serious marital problems? And if so, wasn't it clever of him to use a generic brand?"

Snape's expression darkened as though a gray cloud had suddenly settled over his head. "I have no knowledge, nor do I care to have any knowledge whatsoever, of that atrocity they call a marriage. It's bad enough they've spawned and sent their precious litter to wreak havoc in my classroom."

"Well, I..." A nagging sense of deja-vous crept over Trip as Snape continued.

"Yes, the imbecile did use a..." he steeled himself to say the word, "..._generic_...potion. And you want to know if that was clever?" His eyes were reduced to dark slits, and his voice shrunk to a menacing whisper as he towered over Trip. "Clever, you say? Mr. Argyle, let me tell you exactly what I think of your so-called _clever_ idea..."

Trip's blood chilled. Before Snape could continue, Trip turned and ran. "Back...to...you...Jim!" he panted.

Snape sneered into the camera that was still pointed at him then stalked away, his robes in full menacing billow behind him.

"Er, thanks, Trip, er, for that enlightening... Anyway, Summer, it looks like we've come to the end of another spectacular VoldeFest. The crowd is ecstatic, and everyone's spilling out onto the school grounds for the last few hours of celebration. And we all know what that means, right, Summer? Voldemort, the former You Know Who, the Self-Styled Dark Lord..." He nodded at Summer.

Summer nodded back. "He's dead, Jim."

* * *

Harry and Glinda apparated to the green garden behind their modest house in a quiet, secluded village. The field next to the garden was spacious enough for the children, plus their parents when the mood struck, to practice Quidditch maneuvers. It was a cozy, warm, happy place for his family. With inheritances from his parents and Sirius, book royalties, Glinda's potion business, and his broom repair-by-owl business, money was never a worry.

As they walked toward the house, Harry glanced at a small building to the side that housed both Glinda's lab and his workshop for broom repairs and random puttering. He had a bit of puttering planned for later.

When Harry and Glinda stepped inside, Hedwig greeted them with loud hoots, while Glinda's two cats wound themselves around the couple's legs. The cottage was otherwise quiet with the children spending the next few days with the Ron and Hermione's kids. The two had some time to themselves.

Harry wrapped his arms around his wife. "So good to be back home. Even three days is too long away."

Glinda sent their bags upstairs to unpack themselves. "Yes, but now we have a few days to play, Mr. Potter. Whatever shall we do?"

"Hmm. Can't seem to think of a thing, Mrs. Potter. But I'm sure if we put our heads together, we can figure something out."

"Mmm. I'll bet." She caught a vague look on Harry's face. "What is it, darling?"

Harry kissed her forehead. "You sure you're alright with my using that generic instead of one of yours?"

"Harry. For the third time, I prefer my potions be used for actual people, not wasted on that haphazard collection of flesh and bones."

"Just checking."

"Now stop feeling so guilty." She widened her eyes and raised her hands, curving them like claws. "If that big, bad _monnnster_ Is ever a real threat again, we'll work on something delightfully sinister together."

"You frighten me sometimes, you know that?"

"Good thing. You never would have looked my way if I'd been one of those sad little girls fawning all over you between classes."

Harry smirked. "They didn't fawn. They just...stared."

"Gawked, more like."

"Well they did do that. But you, being the good, self-respecting Slytherin girl, were kind enough to completely ignore me. And for that, I will forever love you."

"How you flatter me."

"Indeed."

Glinda reluctantly removed herself from Harry's arms and summoned two cups to the kitchen table. "Would you like some tea, darling?"

"Not yet. I think I'll head out to the workshop. I have a little something to do first while it's still fresh in my mind. Won't be long, love."

"Don't be," she said with an inviting wiggle of her eyebrows.

"Promise," he said, adding emphasis with a lingering kiss and a wink.

He smiled as he walked to the shed. The idea had been made plain to him during their party. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Just a few curses and charms would make it perfect. It was absolutely brilliant! The smile grew to a grin then a laugh as he flipped through the Acme catalog in search of the honking great catapult that would be the highlight of the twenty-sixth annual VoldeFest. And the twenty-seventh.

END

* * *

Reviews welcome!

The name "Glinda" still comes from The Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum. The "Acme" idea is from Looney Toons' Coyote and Roadrunner cartoons by Warner Brothers. And I'm sure everyone recognizes "He's dead, Jim" from the original Star Trek by Gene Roddenberry. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.


End file.
